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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26364628">Take My Hand Crush It Up</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciousmutton/pseuds/deliciousmutton'>deliciousmutton</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dungeons &amp; Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Favour of the Scribes, Original Work, The ABCU (Aethlyn Brain Cinematic Universe)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Longing, M/M, Unrequited, Yearning, semi-canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:41:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,075</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26364628</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciousmutton/pseuds/deliciousmutton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Roddrik's life is revenge. His spiral downwards seems inevitable, but an infallible Cleric is giving him doubts about his path to the grave.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Dungeons &amp; Dragons Character(s) &amp; Original Dungeons &amp; Dragons Character(s), Plutrik</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Take My Hand Crush It Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is based on a Dungeons and Dragons campaign run by a friend. This includes my PC (Roddrik) and my friend's PC (Pluto). Featuring cameo appearances by the other PCs (June, Vercinjetorix, Nalani).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The thud of split wood and the striking of flint was all that broke the silence between Roddrik and Pluto. Nalani was getting some rest in the tent, June was gathering a meal, and Vercinjetorix had flitted off somewhere. Roddrik knew it was fruitless to question Verc on her motives and movements.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pluto, however, was almost as predictable as Roddrik. Roddrik liked that. They seemed to be, at least somewhat, on the same wavelength. It was doubly useful as Pluto had already shown his willingness to charge into combat with Roddrik. It felt nice to have someone by his side, to have someone who was willing to take a risk with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Building camp was something Roddrik was almost a professional at. He had spent nearly a year in the Undying Forest with his husband. What a chatterbox, that one. Roddrik would nod in agreement and listen for hours as Vari would regale him with the highlight of the day. The boar that escaped his snare trap, the small boxwood bushes he saw that a badger had hid its hole under, the pieces of obsidian he found buried under the muck of the swamp. Roddrik could listen to him for hours and, in fact, he did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roddrik drifted away from his daydreaming as he brought his axe down on the piece of wood he was working on. He sniffled as the cold of the evening started to set in. He gathered his small pile of chopped wood and placed them in the firepit. Pluto gave him a nod, and he gave one back. He watched as the genasi struck the pieces of flint together and started a small fire. He pursed his lips and blew gently on the fledgling flame, nursing it to a healthy, red, glow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The mask prevented Roddrik from breathing life to the campfire. Having Pluto, someone who clearly understood how to build the fire himself, help with set up was a tike saver. It was much easier than trying to convince Verc to have enough patience to actually keep the flame roiling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Who cares? It's not even that cold," she would say. Not that she could tell. She was a ghost piloting meat at this point to Roddrik. She was too distanced to care about mortal comforts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>June was eager to help, but often too consumed by her own problems. She would see a shadow in the woods, a whisper from that god she is tied so closely to, and would scurry away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was useful information for Nalani, in Roddrik's opinion, but it was hard to show them what to do when he couldn't do it himself. Not to mention, it seemed like they wanted little to do with him nowadays.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then came Pluto. All Roddrik did was start chopping wood and Pluto sprung into action. It had been like this from the first night they had spent together. Unspoken, they both knew what needed to be done. That kind of reliability was welcome for Roddrik. Still, setting up camp made him remember the times when it used to be filled with laughter and joy. How things have changed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>" 'Spect they'll be back soon?" Pluto inquired.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't know." Roddrik replied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Aye, me neither." Pluto sighed. "Nalani hasn't eaten yet and I can't remember when they last did."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I can't remember either."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>" 'Mportant that child gets what they need to grow strong."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's a harsh world out there."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Aye. 'Ndeed it is."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fire crackled and popped as it slowly built itself to life. The two stared at the fire for a while, content in the silence. Pluto started getting ready to rest for the night. He didn't look uncomfortable in his armor, but he never looked perfectly at peace in it either, Roddrik noted. Such a contrast to himself, who had grown so used to his armor, he often failed to remember he was wearing it. On the rare occasions he would get to himself, where he wasn't at risk of exposing anyone to his Chokecherry, he would scrub his armor and remove the stench that had set in after being covered in all manner of viscera. Frankly, those moments didn't come often enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Pluto unclipped his breastplate and unlaced his vambraces, it was clear that his armor was designed for a purpose, for its function, rather than its form. Effective at what it does, but not designed for lengthy wear. Indicative of this was the thinning, but not yet threadbare, cream coloured sweater he wore underneath the armor. It wasn't hard for Roddrik to imagine a time when the sweater was considerably more substantial, and probably provided a bit more comfort than it does today. Maybe Pluto kept wearing it under his armor out of habit. Maybe it was sentimental. Roddrik wasn't sure if it was appropriate to enquire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you get cold often?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hmm?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Your sweater. I mean, you wear that sweater a lot. Is it because you are cold?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, maybe not often. 'Ndeed I do sometimes, but it's more for comfort than 'nything else."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roddrik was right. The armor was uncomfortable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I see." Roddrik didn't know where he was going with this line of questioning. Usually he talked to people for a purpose, to solve something, to address something. Now, he just wanted to know about Pluto. "It's good to be comfortable."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Aye. It is." He leaned forward a little, both to squint his eyes and inspect the fire, but also to stretch his back. "And what about you? Is all that armor any comfort?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I think so."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You think so?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, yeah. I'm rarely out of it. I'm pretty used to it. I guess that means it's comfortable."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Do ye feel at ease when takin' a break from the armor?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roddrik could feel the dread reverberate around his bones. There was nothing worse than feeling vulnerable, or at risk of spreading the very disease he was looking to eliminate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Guess it is pretty comfortable armor then."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Guess so."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pluto leaned forward and started to take off his greaves and sabatons. As he did, Roddrik noticed that Pluto's stomach pooled and pressed against his thighs, something that went previously unnoticed under the bulk of his sweater. This came as a surprise to Roddrik. Pluto's hands were beaten and calloused from years of work, but there was also a softness to him. His hands were gentle and careful as they untied the laces on his greaves. They moved with the finesse of a craftsman. Pluto wasn't as easily defined as Roddrik first thought. His hands were tired with work, yes, but that work was one of care, of comfort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every harsh angle, every wrinkle, every rough texture was immediately undercut by something else on Pluto. The roundness of his elbows, the kindness of his eyes, the grace and gentleness of his touch. Something made Roddrik want to feel his hands, on his own hands. To be able to see if the bumps and ridges on his palms were merely illusions, and were hiding the truth that lie underneath Pluto's skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was times like this that he was happy to be wearing a mask. He had been staring for a little longer than he would like to admit. At the very least, Pluto didn't seem to notice. Roddrik wasn't sure if that was a good thing, or if he wanted Pluto to notice that he was wondering more about him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roddrik wasn't sure if he was similar to Pluto. Was he hiding a softness? We're all of his points and jagged edges facades that we're hiding the truth of who he was? He wrung his hands together, but the heavy leather of his gloves was unyielding and untelling. The right angles and the rivets of his armour were exactly as cold as he expected them to be. The clatter of his armour whenever he adjusted was exactly as grating as he remembered it to be. Maybe he was not hiding anything, maybe he was exactly as closed off, and exactly as predictable as the armour on himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He remembered tattoos running along his spine, tattoos given by his parents, tattoos given by his friends, tattoos given by his husband, but he couldn't remember what any of them looked like. He couldn't remember what they were supposed to mean anymore. They were strictly set decoration. He had crafted his body, his armour, his weapon, to inflict damage, to dispense hurt, and maybe in that process, he had worked over and removed its original purpose. Maybe he had doomed himself to his fate, and there was no more saving him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked up from his introspection and caught the corner of Pluto's eye. Pluto darted his gaze away quickly. Was he trying to figure out Roddrik as well? Did Pluto see something that Roddrik could not? He wanted to know. He wanted to know if Pluto knew that the dirt under his fingernails was hiding all of the good work Pluto had done with them. He wanted to know if Pluto understood that his stomach showed someone who took care of themselves, who wasn't as committed to self-sabotage as Roddrik was. He was so tired. He had fought so hard and had given up so much to get to where he had gotten that it was too late to stop now. Still, he wanted to rest his head, just for a moment, in Pluto's lap and not have to focus on the burden ahead of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Are they back yet?" A small voice pierced the air as it seemed to bring both of the men to their senses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Not yet, I'm afraid." Pluto snapped to attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well that sucks." Nalani dragged their feet in the dirt. "There's nothing to do around here."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Want t'watch the fire with me?" Pluto grabbed a stump and rolled it beside him, patting the flat of it invitingly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's just a regular fire, right? No funny business?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Of course. Just a fire."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sure then."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nalani grabbed a seat beside Pluto as he shifted a little closer to them. Roddrik knew that, at least for Nalani's sake, it was better if he made himself scarce. Roddrik got up and proceeded to the tent where Nalani had been resting. He could feel the sting of someone's eyes staring at the back of his neck. He didn't turn around out of fear of what he'd see. He wasn't in a place right now to see a look of disdain from Nalani, nor was he prepared to know if his fantasizing about Pluto was actually just disgust. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sat on his knees behind the tent and placed his sword in his lap. He drew the blade from its scabbard and saw his reflection in the gold blood of the gods used to forge it. There was a reason he fought, there was a reason why he hurt, there was a reason why everyone hurt, and Roddrik knew the solution. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He flipped the blade on its side and grabbed a whetstone from his bag. He dragged the sharpening stone alongside the edge of his sword. He made careful work to maintain the sword's bevel, to use the same amount of pressure on each stroke, to never stress one edge more than another. He had honed his body for a reason, just as he honed his blade. They were precision tools, created for a singular purpose. How desperately he wanted to prove that he deserved a place at the fire alongside Nalani and Pluto. He knew he could, and that he would. What would he become once his purpose was fulfilled? A speciality tool with no niche.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn't plan to become this. Whatever he is. He knew who made him this way, who forced his hand. He knew who removed him from his husband, from putting Nalani on his shoulders, from being able to trace the line of Pluto's jaw. He was only one person they hurt. Imagine the depths of their cruelty, that any amount of people might feel what he feels. That someone else lost everything and couldn't get any of it back. That they squirm and wriggle underneath the heel of a cruel master. To be cursed with a life that is interrupted by shuddering wheezes and croaks because someone else felt it was 'best'.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew how far he needed to go. He just wasn't sure if he could make it back.</span>
</p>
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